His Clockwork Heart
by Fire Bear1
Summary: An American boy receives a life size clockwork doll on his sixteenth birthday and so he winds it up to see what will happen.
1. The Doll

_**I started writing this and realised that this is kind of like a fan fiction I've already read and Rosen Maiden. However, it's got a lot of differences (I started listing them to myself and my minor heart attack at possibly accidentally copying someone's work was eased.) So... Yay.**_

_**Also, this was influenced by listening to Her Clockwork Heart by Vernian Process. The story in that song is completely different but I just listened to a few words in the song and this idea popped into my head. I think the song, from what I remember, is someone making a clockwork heart for a woman so they live as long as they do. But, like I said, this is different.**_

_**Everything else will be explained at the end.**_

* * *

"Happy birthday, son," said his father with a gentle smile. Beside him, his wife also smiled, nodding her head in encouragement.

Alfred stared at the gigantic box, wondering what was in it. Apparently, they felt bad about dragging him on a long journey across the ocean to settle in England, of all places. He didn't understand it. Just over a hundred years beforehand, his ancestors had shucked the oppressive hand of imperialism but his parents wanted to live in it to 'improve their trade'.

So now there was an enormous box in their London house and he was supposed to be happy. Trying not to roll his eyes, he lifted the latch and opened it to stop his parents' pestering.

Inside, lay what appeared to be a young man, his eyes closed and his hands folded on his chest. "Argh!" cried Alfred, throwing himself backwards and letting the lid drop with a bang. "What on Earth?!"

His father chuckled. "Do not be alarmed, son. It's a clockwork doll."

Eyeing the length of the box, Alfred shook his head. "But... it's about the same size as me."

"Yeah, I thought it would be an interesting and unique birthday present." Downstairs, a clock chimed, indicating that it was five o'clock. "Ah. That's the signal for your mother and I to leave. We'll be back soon, so enjoy your present. The servants will make you a large dinner, just for you, too."

Frowning, Alfred looked back up at them. "But-"

He was cut off by his mother leaning over to give him a kiss on the forehead. "Behave, please," she said, smiling gently.

And so he had to watch his parents go off to a dinner some important merchants were holding especially for them. Apparently, his parents were popular over here and they had decided to arrange a party on the 4th of July. Of course, neither his parents nor the merchants were at fault, considering his birthday wasn't publicised. However, this was the loneliest and the worst birthday he had ever had.

Sighing as he heard the front door snap close, the sound echoing throughout the house, Alfred opened the box once again. Gazing down at the life-like doll, he noted the messy, blonde hair and the rather large eyebrows. Its hands were slender and delicate. The clothes were old but not faded, as though they were well kept. In fact, the style seemed to be something from a few years ago. Lying within the box was a top hat and cane.

Wondering what colour the maker had made its eyes, he reached out to touch an eyelid. It was soft, like skin. He shivered but took a breath to calm himself and slowly pried its eye open. Inside was what appeared to be an emerald, it glowed so brightly. The eye stared straight up which unnerved Alfred so he closed it again.

Carefully, Alfred lifted it in his arms till it was in a sitting position. Surely there was some way to work it? But there was no key sticking out of its back. Letting his eyes rove over the interior of the box, he finally spotted a smaller one, nestled at the doll's feet. Laying the doll back down, he picked it up and opened it. Inside was the key, an intricate pattern of flowers decorating it. He pulled the doll back up and, after searching for the keyhole, he inserted the key and began to turn it, listening to the cogs turning and clicking. Finally, he let go and sat back, leaning the doll against the wall and waiting.

Nothing happened and Alfred sighed. _Well, that was a let-down,_ he thought.

Standing up, he turned to go. He was stopped in his tracks as a sudden breeze swept across the room. It was so strong, he staggered back a little before regaining his balance. Confused, he glanced at the window – it was closed.

That was when he heard the whirring from behind him. Eyes wide, he slowly turned back to the doll. Its legs had already bent and it began its jerky process of standing upright. Once it was, it stepped over the box and swung its arms and legs. It shook its head from side to side.

And then it rolled its neck like a normal human.

Alfred shook his head in disbelief. There was no way a doll could move so smoothly. He watched in awe as the thing stretched and yawned. Eventually, it turned to him, acknowledging his presence. It bowed and, when it straightened up, it opened its mouth.

"Hello. I expect this will be quite a shock for you. My name is Arthur. And you are?"

Not knowing whether to flee or attack, Alfred found himself answering. "I... I'm... Alfred Jones."

"Well, Mr. Jones, it is a pleasure to meet you." said the doll and held out its hand. The American shook it, still rather dazed. "Are we still in London? You do not sound as if you are from England. I do not recognise your accent."

"I'm American."

"Ah. Interesting. Am I in one of the states, then?"

"No, London."

"That's a relief. Although... It makes me wonder why you are here..." Arthur stopped and looked Alfred up and down. "You know, you are taking this considerably better than the last person. Granted, that one was a girl. But it's not every day a doll comes to life."

And that was when Alfred passed out.

* * *

Alfred woke up on his bed and tried to recall how he had gotten there. He was still fully clothed and was on top of the thick covers. Something heavy and cool had been laid on his forehead. Reaching up, he realised it was a cloth. Was he ill?

"Ah, you are awake. Good evening," said a familiar voice and everything came rushing back.

With a cry, he sat up and stared at the doll who was calmly sitting on the chair he had pulled up. "W-What are you-?! How-?!"

"Please," said Arthur, raising a hand to stem the flow of questions. "Let me explain."

Frowning, Alfred picked up the damp cloth and threw it onto his bedside table. "Okay..." he said, warily.

"I am not a doll."

"Could've fooled me," muttered Alfred. The glare he received from those glowing eyes silenced him.

"When I was younger- Well, I suppose that I am the same age as that time... I apologise, let me try that again. A long time ago, I came across a beggar woman. She demanded that I take her home or she would die. And she was rather rude about it. If she had asked nicely, I would have acquiesced her request. However, with the haughty way she was acting, I refused.

"This did not sit well with her and... she cursed me. From now on, I will be a doll, only able to move when I am wound, for a finite period of time. I did not believe her but... I went to bed and woke in a stranger's room, a poor young lady who got quite the fright. She kindly explained that she had bought me as a doll from a shopkeeper who had acquired me. Most likely, he stole me from my estate. I have changed hands quite a few times.

"May I ask what year it is?"

"Uh..." said Alfred, still trying to take in his explanation. "It's 1910."

"Ah? And how does the British Empire fare?"

Alfred shrugged. "I dunno. Don't care, either."

For a few minutes, they stared at each other. Arthur appeared to be irritated by the response. Alfred wondered if he would hurt him. Suddenly, though, he sighed, startling Alfred who flinched.

"Then, may I ask where you found me?"

"I didn't. You're a birthday present. Ah, uh... That sounds bad. Sorry." Alfred stared down as his good trousers, smoothing the creases just for something to do.

"No need to apologise, young man," Arthur replied, waving his hand. It was amazing how fluidly his hand moved. "I expect you would like me to hide somewhere during the day?"

"What?"

Arthur looked at him as if he was slow. "I doubt you want your servants or family finding me. Yet, I have nowhere else to go at the moment."

"Oh." Alfred blinked, thinking. "Well, nah. You don't need to hide. I'll just tell everyone I made a friend."

"Just like that?" Arthur looked surprised and Alfred grinned.

"Yup."

* * *

The next morning, Alfred dragged Arthur into the dining room where his parents were eating breakfast. Oddly enough, Arthur seemed a bit skittish but Alfred ignored him to focus on his words. He waited until the couple blinked up at him in bewilderment, still looking a tad tired from their late night.

"Hey, mother, father. This is a friend of mind. He needs somewhere to stay – he can, right?"

They looked at each other before his father shrugged. "It's fine with me. I'm sure... I'm sorry, what is your name, sir?"

"Ah, I am Arthur," said the doll, hurriedly.

"Well, I'm sure Arthur here will be able to keep you out of trouble, son." And with that, his parents went back to eating.

Arthur looked startled and glanced at Alfred who shrugged. Now that it had all been sorted, Alfred pulled Arthur to the table and they sat. Instantly, servants appeared and placed plates and bowls in front of them. In the middle of the table were the plates of food: haddock, bacon, omelettes, crumpets, apples. There was also a large urn filled with porridge which Alfred dove for. Beside him, Arthur stared in wonder at the food.

"What's wrong?" Alfred asked in a whisper, glancing worriedly at his parents. Could Arthur eat or was he cursed to never taste all this good food?

"It is... I have never seen so much food for breakfast," breathed Arthur, obviously awed.

Alfred grinned. "Yeah. We have it good." And, with that, he took a bite of his toast. As he ate in his wayward way, he watched Arthur take some eggs and toast and hesitantly nibble at it. When the doll smiled, Alfred grinned. It seemed Arthur enjoyed the food and, for that, he was glad.

* * *

"Thank you for this, Alfred," said Arthur, smiling at him from atop the tailor's stool.

"It's not a problem, Arthur," Alfred replied, returning his smile. "Can't have you wearing those old-fashioned things." He gestured at the pile of outer clothes beside him. Apparently, his last mistress had insisted on proper clothing for a 'young British gentleman' and Arthur had happily obliged since his previous clothing had become slightly outdated. Once again, he had been left behind in the fashion world and Alfred had felt it wise to use his parents' money to get some tailored for him. It was the least he could for Arthur brightening up his life with actual conversation instead of passing remarks.

"Though, I must say, this new fashion is rather more informal in appearance. What has the world been doing?" Arthur raised his arms for the tailor as he said this, raising his eyebrow in unison. Alfred found it an amusing act but stopped himself from laughing.

"I hear the Prince of Wales is to blame – but, then, whatever good came out of there?"

Arthur chuckled, something Alfred found he rarely did. This caused Alfred to grin as he watched the tailor measure the inside of Arthur's leg.

With his measurements done, the tailor stepped back. "What exactly were you hoping for, sir?" he asked Alfred.

"A few morning dress and evening attire. And, I suppose, just in case, some sportswear, if you could," answered Alfred with a smile.

"Sportswear?" asked Arthur, blinking.

"Yeah, we can go find out what the British do for sport, right? Shooting, I think. And horse-riding. Do you know how to ride a horse, Arthur?"

"Of course," replied the doll with a sniff. "I am not a simpleton."

"I never said you were," said Alfred, smiling again.

It was a couple of days before the tailor brought back beautifully made clothes. And Alfred noticed that he must have found Arthur's eyes as striking as the American did, for he provided cravats and tweed coats with brilliant greens in them. When Arthur wore them, Alfred couldn't stop himself from staring at the handsome, confident man in front of him.

* * *

Alfred sighed again. It was a muggy night in London and, once again, he couldn't get to sleep. But he needed to – tomorrow, he and his parents were to go to luncheon with an important family. A young lady would be there and he needed to look his best.

Rolling over, he sighed and suddenly sat up, throwing the thin covers from him. There was nothing to be done. He would have to find something to tire himself.

He slipped from his room and started down the corridor. Outside of Arthur's room, he paused. Was the doll asleep or awake? Perhaps they could have a game of billiards. So, quietly, he knocked and entered the room.

Crossing the room in the dark, he could already tell that the doll was sleeping, his soft breathing reaching Alfred's ears in the silence. Another sound reached him: the mechanical noise of gears turning with a soft ticking. He had noticed it coming from Arthur's chest on occasion and he knew that that was the only thing which indicated that he was still the doll he had awoken two weeks ago.

When he reached the bed, he turned on the lamp, the glow illuminating the peaceful face turned towards him. Blinking, he crouched down, staring at the smooth face. Arthur looked just as he did the first night he had seen him. Of course, now, he looked less stiff and more like he belonged in this world.

Not knowing why, he found himself lifting an arm and brushing his fingers along his skin. Still soft. Then he sighed and poked his cheek. "Arthur!" he whined. "Wake up!" The doll groaned and his eyelids fluttered. Alfred poked him once more. "Wakey, wakey! I'm bored. Come on!"

Finally, those eyes opened and Alfred found himself staring into vibrant, green orbs. "Wha' is i'?" he asked, groggily. "Wha' time i' it?"

"I don't know. It's the middle of the night. But I can't sleep. Come play billiards with me."

Slowly, Arthur pushed himself up on an elbow, rubbing at his eyes and yawning. He cleared his throat before he spoke. "Alfred... No. I doubt I would be able to concentrate well enough for that," he mumbled.

"Aw, but-!"

"Why not listen to a story?" Arthur shuffled over and patted the space beside him. "A bedtime story, hm? It might help."

Alfred hadn't needed a bedtime story for some time. However, he shrugged and sat down beside Arthur. They both rested against the headboard and Arthur began, Alfred watching him.

"Once upon a time-"

"Stories always start like that," Alfred interrupted. "Why is that?"

Arthur stared at him, unimpressed. "Because all stories start at some point in time, though people can never know when exactly. May I continue?"

Under his glare, Alfred flushed. "Um, sure."

"Then... Once upon a time, a young fairy-"

He couldn't help it – Alfred snorted. "F-Fairy?" he asked, giggling.

"Yes, a fairy," snapped Arthur. "If you do not want to listen, you can leave."

"No, no!" gasped Alfred, struggling to contain his laughter. "Don't mind me."

Grumbling, Arthur shifted into a more comfortable position. "Well, there was a young fairy. He was one of the few male fairies in the world and he had golden hair and eyes like the sky. For as long as he could remember, flying when the sun was up was forbidden, yet he wished to fly when he could feel the warmth on his face and see all the humans and animals. His parents forbade him, though, and, when he petitioned the king and queen, they explained why.

"'If humans discover that we truly exist, they will try to exploit us. You must never, never fly in the sun. It is law.'

"But the fairy-"

"What's his name?" asked Alfred.

"Eh?"

"Well, it'll be easier for you to tell it if you know the name, right?" reasoned Alfred.

Arthur sighed. "I do not know his name. What name would you give him?"

"Hm. How about... Joseph. You can call him 'Joe' for short."

"That is a horrible name for a fairy," protested Arthur and Alfred chuckled at his indignant expression. His pouting was rather adorable. No wonder he was such a hit with his former mistresses, if his stories were to be believed.

"Then, what about Peter. 'Pete' for short."

Arthur nodded his assent. "Right, then. Peter was told not to fly in the sun-"

"You already said that part."

Sending a glare his way, Arthur pushed on. "However, he didn't understand what was so wrong in having the humans know about them. He believed that humans wouldn't exploit them, that they were nice people, just like the other fairies. And so he went flying in the sunlight one day, desperate to see the world in the warm light.

"It was more beautiful than he could have imagined. The golden fields dancing in the breeze. Seeing that his eyes were as blue as the sky above, such a beautiful colour compared to the bruising colours of the night, he was overjoyed. Animals frolicked and the world seemed more alive."

Alfred could almost see the story unfolding. If this was their world that he was describing, it must have been the most dazzling and wondrous thing from Arthur's eyes. No longer with the gumption to interrupt, he watched Arthur's animated face as he continued his tale.

"And he could see humans. For the first time in his life, he understood what the mythological creatures were. They merely seemed to be larger versions of his people but without wings. Surely they couldn't be too bad...

"So he flew down to a farmer boy with hair like a raven and eyes as dark as mud. Understandably, the young man was startled and frightened. For these humans had been told awful tales of fairies stealing children into the night. Surprised at this, the fai-" Arthur paused.

"Peter," provided Alfred with a yawn.

"Ah, yes. Peter taught the human how to communicate with the fae and how to recognise their homes. The human was awed and promised never to forget them. And, when Peter had left, he didn't. In fact, he tried to teach the rest of the people in his village.

"Unfortunately, the villagers believed him to be possessed by demons or controlled by the fae and quickly killed him. However, they had listened to him enough to know how to find the fairies and the proceeded to hunt them down.

"The humans didn't want to exploit the magic of the fairies. Their time apart from the magical creatures native to their land had caused them to fear magic. It had caused them to persecute them and kill any who dared practice it."

Now, Alfred's eyes were wide. He was leaning forward, gaping at Arthur's face. How could this happen to his amazing world? Why was Arthur so calm?

"Meanwhile, Peter had decided that he could never go back to the moonlight. He yearned for the sun and would not be oppressed. It was as he flew over his old home that he saw the massacre taking place.

"How could this be? Why would humans do something so vile? He didn't understand and so he rushed down, trying to help.

"However, he was hit by a human, batted away, and he landed unconscious in the grass several feet away. When he came to, it was over. The humans had surprised the sleeping fairies and had the upper hand in numbers. None survived. Peter was the only one, all alone."

"That's awful," breathed Alfred.

"It's not over, love. Don't worry just yet," Arthur assured him. "Peter did not know what to do but now he had his freedom – at a horrible cost. So he began to fly around the world, hiding from humans, avoiding them. He made sure to keep up with the news, keep up with human affairs. Perhaps there would come a time when people accepted magic into their hearts again. Perhaps he could talk to humans when that happened and he would no longer be lonely."

After a brief pause, Alfred found himself twisted round, staring intently at Arthur. "Is... Is that it?"

"The story has never been finished," explained Arthur. "For he still travels the world to this day, only venturing to speak to gifted children now and then. So, please, make sure to watch out for him."

"Hey!" cried Alfred. "That's a horrible end! You have to tell me! Please, Arthur. I'll never get to sleep if you don't." He pouted for added effect but Arthur only chuckled.

"Alfred, my dear, the story is a metaphor. If you can figure it out, you can give the story a happy ending yourself. Now, off with you – I am tired and I wish to sleep."

"Don't want to," said Alfred stubbornly. Quickly, he wriggled under the covers before pulling Arthur down beside him. "Let's go to sleep like this. You can tell me better stories till I fall asleep."

Arthur sighed but obediently settled down. However, he didn't speak. The only sound that Alfred could hear was the ticking of Arthur's clockwork heart and, eventually, he drifted off.

* * *

"I'm going to make sure the people hiring us the boat are still fine with it."

"We only just arrived here, Alfred. Are you not tired?"

"Nope."

"Look, we can check on that tomorrow. Let us just get to our room."

Pouting, Alfred sighed and hurried over to help with the bags – only to be beaten to it by a porter. Grumbling to himself, he followed Arthur and the porter into the hotel.

They had decided on their trip a few days previously and had even taken one of his father's new cars to drive to the Lake District. Upon asking around in London, Arthur had learned that the Lodore Falls Hotel was a good place to stay. It was close to the falls themselves and faced Derwentwater Lake. The view was outstanding and the house was a beautiful old thing with ivy creeping up the walls and around the windows. Huge, it towered above them as they drove up the driveway and Alfred had almost crashed the car because he had been staring up at it. Luckily, the valet had shouted at him and he had managed to hit the brakes in time. He had sheepishly handed it over to the man who was thankful to be on the other side of the wheel.

Once they had been settled into their room with much pomp and circumstance, Arthur disappeared to talk to the people running the hotel. Alfred sat on the bed, pouting, until the doll returned with a piece of paper in hand. Waving it at the American, he grinned.

"I have discovered many places we can visit by car whilst we are here. And I contacted the man hiring us the boat by telephone. It will be ready for us to use at any time."

"Really?" asked Alfred, lighting up. "Then let's go now!"

"Now?" asked Arthur, eyeing one of the two beds present.

"Yeah, come on. We can waste away in here later." With that, Alfred grabbed Arthur's hand and dragged him from the room.

The man's boat was situated on the shore of the lake so the two of them made their way to it on foot. It was a lovely walk wherein they made raucous conversation and watched the trees dancing in the breeze. Birds sang overhead and the clean air was heaven to breathe after being in London.

When they finally got the boat onto the water and had gotten into it, Alfred insisted on rowing to release some of his energy. Arthur agreed – but only because he 'knew Alfred would end up rocking the boat otherwise'. Alfred laughed at that. The few months they had spent with each other had taught them much about their companion.

For instance, whilst Alfred could eat much of what was served for their meals, it seemed that Arthur was used to smaller pickings. Apparently, the portion sizes Alfred was used to did not match what Arthur had been used to before he had been a doll.

Arthur loved to read and had gotten his hands on many history books within the first week of his stay. Soon he had known much more about the world's recent history than even Alfred had been aware of. Apparently, he wanted to see the huge cruise ships that Britain was building. In fact, next year, if it was possible, he hoped to sail on the RMS Olympic.

Conversely, Alfred wanted to fly. He had heard about the amazing feat of the Wright brothers when he was younger and, now, he wished he could have a flying machine of his own. Most people laughed at him when he said this and his mother told him that he was forbidden from ever stepping inside such a death trap. Arthur, however, had been amazed by the development and, although he seemed filled by trepidation at the thought, looked forward to when it would be available for the public, too. They had spent an afternoon in which Alfred ran around with his arms spread, making noises, as Arthur giggled uncontrollably on the floor.

Of course, Arthur was, first and foremost, a gentleman. Even though he would happily rough house with Alfred, he would put a stop to their activities if someone was present or if he had felt they had gone on long enough to be no longer dignified. He had been terribly embarrassed by losing his composure at Alfred's antics that afternoon – once he had finished, he had apologised profusely. Alfred, of course, did not care and told him that he preferred him acting like that than the snob he obviously was. The American had laughed at Arthur's outrage and they had begun another round of helpless guffaws.

Now, Arthur was gazing at the landscape, smiling softly. Eventually, Alfred stilled the boat and drew in the oars. Arthur lay down on his half with a sigh. "This is perfect," he sighed as he stared up at the sky.

Alfred watched him. "Hm?"

"I never got much of a chance to see things like this with my past mistresses. They seemed to be situated in London and never travelled much with me. It would be awkward and undignified to travel with someone who was not a member of the family. Now, though, it seems you are going to insist on me coming on such adventures."

Grinning back at the smile on Arthur's face, Alfred nodded. "Of course! I'm not going to leave you behind."

"Because I'm your doll?" Arthur looked hesitant, now, and was biting his lip.

"What? No, don't be silly," said Alfred, his smile softening. "Because you're my friend."

The smile returned to Arthur's face and he turned his head to look out over the water. "Your friend, hm?" he murmured, staring at the shoreline.

* * *

They hadn't lived in England for half a year when he was told of their plans to move back. Alfred would be back amongst his own people and in the land that he loved. Ecstatic, he rushed to his room where Arthur was likely to be.

When he couldn't find him, he asked one of the maids before heading out to the garden. It was small yet there was plenty of plant life: herbs and vegetables for the kitchens, beautiful flowers for the ladies and majestic trees to cover the occupants from the sun whenever it appeared. In one corner was a rose bush which Arthur seemed to be drawn to and always insisted on tending himself. Alfred watched him for a moment, touching the petals and sniffing at the scent, before he approached him.

"Arthur! Guess where I'll be by Christmas!"

Blinking, the doll turned to look at him. "Oh? You are going somewhere?" he asked, tilting his head in question.

"Yeah! We're going home!"

"Home...?" Arthur knew how Alfred felt about being uprooted so Alfred knew he would understand what he meant. "So you will be back in America?"

"Exactly! I can't wait! I get to see all my friends again! And my horse! I never thought I'd miss her so much but-"

"What... What will happen to me?"

Alfred paused and surveyed his companion. He was unnaturally tense, his slim, delicate fingers clenched around a rose stem. The American's eyes widened as he saw something red dripping from them.

"Arthur!" he cried, grabbing the doll's hand and wrenching it away. "What are you do-?!"

"What will happen to me?!" Arthur repeated at a shout. He was staring at the ground, breathing fast. "You... You won't put me in that box while I'm still wound will you? Even if you don't, what will I do? I have no papers or money or-"

"Don't be so silly," said Alfred, smiling. "You'll come with us, I'll make sure of it."

This caught the doll's attention and he looked up. "But... I am just 'a friend' to your parents. They would not take kindly to my accompanying you, would they? Besides that... I do not know how this magic works." He shook his arms for emphasis. "What would happen if the magic stops working when I leave England? I do not want to die as a doll."

"It'll be fine," Alfred assured him, gripping the doll's arms. "I'll protect you, okay? I know those girls made _you_ protect _them_, but I will not let you get hurt again. Come, we had better get you a bandage for this."

* * *

He wondered when it had happened. How could he not have noticed the way his heart beat faster, the way he kept glancing across, the way his breath caught at a touch? Why was it such a sudden realisation?

"Hey, Arthur...?" said Alfred, trying not to look up from his school work.

"Hm?" came the reply from the other side of the room. Arthur was back to reading now that everyone had settled into their home in Charlottesville.

"How... Well, when... Have you ever been in love?"

There was a silence and, after a while, Alfred glanced up to find Arthur staring at him over the top of his heavy book. His grip on it was tight which was unusual – Arthur usually handled books with the utmost care.

Finally, he spoke. "Um... No. I... I was betrothed once – arranged, you see – but I never loved the woman. She was French and always tried to put me down. I hated it and I disliked her, even if she was sometimes kind to me. She ran off with a Spanish man, a prince, she claimed. When she did, I was so embarrassed – as was my family, I suppose – that I took to the sea." He chuckled suddenly. "I suppose my only real mistress will be the ocean."

"Oh," was Alfred's pitiful reply. Should he comfort him? It ached to see him rather down heartened. Alfred knew he had now lived longer than him and had seen more than he had but it worried him sometimes to see the man lost in his memories.

They returned to their tasks for quite some time. The only sounds in the room were the scribbling of Alfred's pen, the rustle of the pages in Arthur's book and the ticking of the clock. Or was that ticking coming from Arthur's heart?

"Do you... Do you know when you know... you know?"

"Excuse me?" asked Arthur, furrowing his brows at the embarrassed boy.

"Well, do you know how to know when you're in love?"

Green eyes slowly blinked. Alfred thought that no reply was forthcoming so he was surprised when Arthur eventually opened his mouth. "When you feel as you do."

"H-H-How do you know how I feel?" cried Alfred, alarmed. Had he been too obvious? What should he do now?

"Hm, I have no doubt that you are asking this question for a reason. I can only imagine that you feel attracted to someone and are unsure as to what to do next. Am I correct?"

Alfred nodded. "I don't... Am I truly in love or is it just a passing fancy?"

"That, I do not know. However, perhaps you can find out."

"How?"

"If your feelings only grow, then it is love, I believe. However, if they fade with time or you find yourself attracted to another woman, then it was probably just a fancy. Now, concentrate on your work or the governess will chase me out next time."

With that, Arthur returned to his book. Alfred, though, stared at him. Arthur had answered his question marvellously.

For Alfred had realised that he was attracted to the doll for some time. He had been horrified, of course, but his feelings had grown. Now he found himself craving his smile, his laugh, his touch. There were plenty of pretty women in Charlottesville, yet none held his attention as Arthur did.

He was in love.

* * *

The months passed and, soon, it was Alfred's seventeenth birthday. It was also the anniversary of Alfred meeting Arthur and he decided to give him a present. After several weeks of searching, he had finally found the perfect present. He had actually been giving Arthur a lot of presents lately and the doll seemed to be rather confused by it. However, he accepted them in good cheer.

He found Arthur in the rather bare garden and was glad no-one else was around. If anyone saw him giving presents to another man on his own birthday...

"Hey, Arthur! It's Independence Day!"

"Indeed it is," said Arthur without turning around.

"And it's my birthday!"

"Indeed it is."

"And it's the one year anniversary of the day we met."

"Indeed it is."

"So I got you a present."

Slowly, almost jerkily, Arthur turned around. Alfred immediately grew worried: Arthur was graceful and light on his feet. This did not seem like him at all. He also appeared saddened. Before Alfred could question it, though, Arthur's eyes lit up at the thing in his hands.

"Is that... a sapling?"

"Yeah, a rose. We can plant it right now, if you'd like."

"Yes, please," agreed Arthur. "Go and get a trowel," he added as he hesitantly took the pot.

Alfred nodded and hurried off, returning with the tool. He found Arthur in a corner, beside the wall. Handing the tool over, he crouched down and watched Arthur work. Several times, Arthur's arms seemed to jerk but Alfred only bit his lip as he oversaw Arthur digging a hole in the earth and gently placing the plant in. After he had secured it by patting down the loose earth, Arthur rose to his feet. It was such a jolting movement that Alfred leapt up and steadied the doll.

"Arthur, what's going on? Are you ill?"

Turning to him, the doll gave him a sad smile. "I am sorry... for this to... happen... on your birthday," he said, his breathing laboured. It seemed to Alfred that he was struggling to stay standing on his own and to speak at the same time.

"What? What is it?"

"I am winding down."

Staring, Alfred shook his head. "B-But... That's not a problem!" he declared. "I'll just wind you up again."

The doll's head turned to the side with a jerk before turning to the other. Alfred realised that Arthur was trying to shake his head. "I cannot... find the key. The box was not... in my trunk."

"What?!" exclaimed Alfred. "But... We lost it? _I_ lost it? How could I lose it?!"

"It would not... have mattered."

"Why not?"

"Because... a person can only... wind me... once."

Suddenly, Arthur's knees buckled and he fell to the ground. Alfred dropped with him, catching him before his whole body went crashing to the path. "N-No! There must be something I can do! How do I break this curse?"

"I... know not." Arthur's eyes found Alfred's. "No-one has... broken it before. I did not... expect you... to."

"No! I have to do something! I-" For some reason, Alfred could not bring himself to declare his love for the doll. It was something unwarranted and severely frowned upon. After all, love between two men was not something natural in this world.

"There is... nothing..."

But Alfred had suddenly remembered the fairy tales that Arthur had told him over the months. True love's first kiss. So, instead of trying to voice his feelings, Alfred hurriedly leaned over and kissed Arthur.

At first, Arthur's soft lips did not budge. Then, slowly, they began to move with Alfred's. The American was ecstatic. Not only was he kissing his love, but he was responding! And, surely, the fact that he could respond, was encouraging.

Unfortunately, all of a sudden, the lips pressed against his felt as hard as porcelain instead of the softness of skin. Arthur's arm dropped. And the gentle ticking Alfred had become accustomed to hearing ceased, bringing an absence of noise so heavy that Alfred sat up. In his arms was his doll, his Arthur. His glassy eyes stared upwards at the sky. There was no expression on his face but he looked peaceful.

Alfred was found a few hours later by his father, weeping over the doll his parents had given him a year ago. It was the loneliest and worst birthday he had ever had.

* * *

_**And this is where I was originally going to leave it. Hurrah for a two-shot instead. **_

_**I'm sorry they jumped through time a lot. I only wanted to give snippets of their time together before... well. And, of course, point out that Alfred falls in love with him. Unlike most of Arthur's past owners who were young girls and only saw him as a plaything which they could hide from their parents when he was alive. **_

_**That brings me onto the whole Toy Story-esque feel of Arthur not wanting to go in the box. It's not that he doesn't like the dark, etc, but that box pretty much feels like a coffin and he has had to spend long periods of time alive and ticking (heh) hidden from view in it. Let me tell you, he was very surprised he got his own house in Alfred's place.**_

_**Alfred's parents are, like, upper-middle class merchants. Well, his dad is. And they found him in an old curiosity shop they discovered in London. Whether it was still there after the doll had been bought is a matter for you to debate yourself because, really, I don't know.**_

_**Alfred fainted because: doll moving and talking by self = (Chucky) possessed doll = ghost = ARGHAFAGREIOFNVJK* ##1! Or something along those lines.**_

_**Arthur's bedtime story started off as just a really sad story and then transformed into a metaphor. If you know what the metaphor is, you win a cookie or something. Oh! And, the funny thing is, the end of the story was the only part of the metaphor to begin with. Then, suddenly, I added some piece of Arthur's back story in and, suddenly, the whole thing is a metaphor. (That just gives you a clue to the metaphor. So you get a scone instead. My scones never rise, though...)**_

_**I was originally going to have Arthur doing some sport which is why sportswear came up at all. The sportswear - and I think the rest of the clothes - were all the fashion because that's what the Prince of Wales was wearing. It's slightly shorter in the jacket than the Victorian stuff Arthur was wearing and they didn't wear top hats and stuff. Edwardian times, yay. (Still prefer the Victorian era.)**_

_**I looked up the differences in breakfasts between Victorian and Edwardian - there were a couple more things listed in Edwardian times than in Victorian times. Also, I read a historical fan fiction where Edwardian times seemed to be concentrated on eating more. (In case you're wondering, that was 1912 by Robin Rocks.) So I just presumed the portion sizes and the meals would be slightly bigger.**_

_**It's 1910 only because I wanted to have them be able to go back to America without being caught up in the Titanic. (Which is what that 1912 story is about.) As such, the RMS Olympic was mentioned because I was going to mention the fact Arthur wanted to sail on the Titanic - only to realise that the Olympic hadn't been finished yet and it would make more sense to mention her than her sister ship.**_

_**It's also 1910 because I wanted Alfred to be 16 here and to also be able to serve in both World Wars. Aren't I nice to Alfred in this story? First, Arthur goes back to being a lifeless doll with no key and no way for Alfred to wind him back up, then he gets to witness both World Wars first hand.**_

_**Lodore Falls Hotel is a real place which the website stated had been there for 400 years. So I'm presuming it was there when Arthur and Alfred was there. Drentwater- That lake is the place it's beside and the Lodore Falls is also real. (People get their wedding pictures done in front of them, apparently.)**_

_**I picked Charlottesville for where they live like this: Google Maps - zoom out - drag over to America - zoom in a bit - pick the first place I saw (Charlotte) - decide North Carolina is a bit too far south for my liking (for some reason - I don't know why) - go north - pick Charlottesville. You know what's weird, though - my British spellcheck was fine with "Charlottesville" - but the American one on this site hates it.**_

_**Oh, yeah. The spell on Arthur means that only the person who winds him remembers he is a doll. The rest of the household have never seen him before and never question where the gigantic doll is. (And this is not only because I realised halfway through they should be wondering where the doll went...)**_

_**Onto the next chapter! It'll be up soon. Hopefully. ^^"**_


	2. The Man

_**Oh, wow. A lot of you seemed to like that last chapter. And you cried, too.**_

_**So I apologise in advance for the heartbreak caused and...**_

_**Also, this is a very, very long chapter. But it's miles better than the last one. ^.^**_

_**(And thank you to that guest who said something along the lines of me being 'an angel of words'. I assure you, I am no angel. Probably more the devil if the rest of this story is any indication...)**_

* * *

"I don't like this, Mattie. How could they do this?! It's been in the family for _ages_!"

"I know, Al," sighed his cousin. "But... Can your parents really afford to keep this place?"

With a grumble, Alfred folded his arms. "They could sell it to Aunt Maddie and Uncle Gil."

Once again, his cousin sighed. They had already been over this multiple times and Alfred was well aware that the Canadian branches of his family hardly ever spent time in America, except for when they were visiting Alfred and his parents. There was no way to save his grandfather's home.

"Come on. We're wasting time," said Matthew. Without waiting for an answer, he fished his hand into one of Alfred's pockets and hurried out of reach with the key in hand. The Canadian walked away, secure in the knowledge that Alfred would follow.

"Hey!" said Alfred, though he wasn't really bothered. With a sigh, he raised his eyes to the massive Virginian house. The huge brick monstrosity sprawled across the street, its garden hidden by walls. The front yard was overgrown and ivy had started to creep across its face. Windows dark with dust and grime stared down. Once Matthew had wrestled the door open, its gaping maw beckoned Alfred inside.

In the darkened building, the two young men gazed around at the shell which remained of their adored relative. Old chairs were ragged and piles of books with thick layers of dust lay in their lonely vigil. Pictures still stood, fighting off the neglect but failing. Paintings and rotting flowers remained in the hallways. The wardrobes still contained old clothes and the mothballs rolled out when they opened them. A lot of the cloth and clothing lying around had holes from insects. Instead of a gleaming kitchen, the surfaces were dull, something both cousins knew the old man had hated.

They met up again at the top of the house, both empty handed. "Didn't find anything worth keeping, huh?" said Alfred, sullenly.

"I think the only real sentimental things are the family pictures," answered Matthew with a shrug. He was looking rather grim. Although both of them had loved the man, Alfred had always been able to visit him regularly. Matthew had less visits and the death he who he had barely begun to get to know was hitting him rather had.

The American nodded. "Yeah."

"There might be things in the attic," added Matthew, pointing upwards.

"Yeah," said Alfred, tilting his head back. "There might even be stuff from our _great_-grandfather."

"Mmhmm..."

Glancing at Matthew, Alfred could see him shifting uncomfortably. As far as he could remember, Matthew had never liked the attic. Sometimes he had claimed to hear ticking and whispering. Alfred, of course, had laughed him off – even if the total darkness in the room at night terrified. Then he could hear ticking and laughter and giggling and scraping and someone breathing down his neck-!

Cutting off that train of thought, he tilted his head with a small smile. "D'ya wanna wait outside, dude? I can do this on my own, y'know."

Matthew scrutinised him. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. If I find anything too big to carry down myself, I'll give you a call."

"I won't hear y-" began Matthew but Alfred pulled out his cell and waved it. With a sigh, Matthew nodded. "Okay, fine. I'll be in the garden."

With that, they parted ways, Alfred grabbing the pole from its place on the wall to pull open the hatch and bring down the ladder. Once up, he tugged on the rope to light the single swaying bulb. It created a pitiful light source and he sighed. Not for the first time he wished that there was a skylight.

Using his phone as a flashlight, Alfred began to scour the attic for interesting looking boxes. He opened a few but the only thing which interested him was his great-grandfather's old bomber jacket and medals. Slipping it on, he surveyed himself in an old, cracked mirror with a faded Latin inscription on the top. It fitted him perfectly and he posed a few times, hands in his pockets, glasses glinting in the light from his phone and a grin on his face. He was definitely keeping this.

Nothing else interested him until, eventually, he came across a large, old box at the back, sandwiched into a corner. If it was stood up, it would be only slightly shorter than Alfred was now and, when he had been a child, he remembered clambering up onto it whilst his grandfather showed him odd titbits lying around the attic. Today was the first day he wondered what was in it – his grandfather had never shown him and he had never asked.

God, he hoped it wasn't a body.

After shifting several boxes to get to it, Alfred hesitantly knelt down and laid his hand on the lid. Remembering the cop shows he would watch when bored, he took a deep breath and held it so he wouldn't breathe in the stench of rotten corpse if that was what was in it. Then, finally, he wrenched the lid open.

He was fairly sure that Matthew heard his scream and the slam of the lid.

Inside, he had glimpsed a face and folded hands. It really was a body. How long had it been up here? Should he call the police? Would his parents be sent to prison? Would he? Maybe he should get rid of it.

Realising he was panicking, he took in a breath. Instantly, he realised something was odd. He couldn't smell anything rotten – but surely the body should be well on its way to being a skeleton by now?

Slowly, he reopened the box and gazed down at the body. Whoever it had been had messy blonde hair and _huge_ eyebrows. His delicate hands looked to be made of porcelain. The man was dressed in old-fashioned clothes: a dress coat, tailored trousers, a bright green cravat. It looked like he had stepped off a period piece.

When Alfred finally gained the courage to touch him, he realised his hands were soft but cold. Opening its eyes, Alfred realised that it wasn't a man at all – no-one could have such glassy, bright eyes. They even matched the cravat.

Was this some sort of man-made creature?

And, as soon as he thought that, he remembered the tale his grandfather had told him of his own father. "Well, the old man served in two World Wars," he remembered the old, smiling man saying. "He was clearly off his rocker. Kept telling me and my sister that he had a living doll upstairs. If he could only find the key, he'd be able to wind 'im up again and they'd be able to live happily ever after. Told us all sorts of things about him. Obviously he talked to his doll too much after the shock of it all."

Alfred flinched. He had been named after him, the madman. Hopefully, he wouldn't start treating the doll like it was real.

Carefully, despite his misgivings, Alfred pulled up the doll and propped it against his chest. Ghosting his fingers over the thing's back, he eventually found a small keyhole. Surely someone could have created another key? However, if the older Alfred hadn't wanted anyone to touch his precious 'true love', maybe he hadn't tried. Maybe he could, though, and see what his great-grandfather had been fussing over.

Laying the doll back into its casing, he pulled out his phone again and speed-dialled Matthew.

* * *

The doll was stored in his parent's basement when they returned home and Alfred made no mention of it to them. He did, however, show off his new bomber jacket and the medals he had saved. His dad seemed happy that Alfred had chosen them - he even mentioned it was his inheritance.

Afterwards, Alfred began to get ready for his move to the college he was attending. The campus was in the centre of New York City and his parents had decided to use the money they got for the old house to cover the costs of renting an apartment for him. Although he wasn't happy with them selling such an old building, he was grateful that they were thinking of him. So in the days following his discovery, Alfred was busy packing and the doll lay forgotten in the darkness below their house.

Finally, the days stretched into weeks and it was time for the young man to leave the nest. Piling boxes into the car, he was rearranging the way they sat in the trunk when his mother approached him.

"Darling, have you checked the basement for anything?"

"No, Mom. Why would I?" he answered, jiggling a box until it sat flat once again.

"There may be some of your clothes in the laundry that you want," she explained.

"Oh, crap!" Alfred exclaimed. He had known he was forgetting something – this must be it. "Urgh. I'll go see."

With that, Alfred re-entered the house leaving his boxes and his car under the care of his mother. Hurriedly, he wrenched the door open and took the stairs two at a time. Once he had rummaged through the basket and found a few of his unwashed t-shirts, he turned to leave. Something caught his eye, though, and he paused.

"Oh..." he said as he gazed at the box. "Maybe I should take you with me, huh?" A brief silence descended. "Oh, God, I'm already talking to the thing," he sighed.

After calling down his dad to help him carry the box up to his car, he placed it in the trunk and arranged the rest of the boxes in the back seat. Then he said his farewells, hugged his dad, gave his mom a kiss to the cheek and drove off.

The doll lay in his car for some weeks afterwards as he unpacked, settled in, made sure he knew where the nearest fast food places were and found a job in a comic book store. His lessons started shortly after and he found himself too preoccupied to think about it for some time.

Eventually, he remembered that it was in its car. On a free day at the end of October, he drove the doll to a nearby locksmith's after he had called up and asked if they could help him. They said it was an odd situation but they were sure they could help. Alfred left the doll in the hands of the locksmith and returned a few days later to be given a small box along with the doll. This time, when he returned home, he took the doll in the elevator up to his level and dragged it into his apartment.

"Right, then," he said after he had pulled the doll out and carefully sat it on a armchair. It was rather creepy since it looked so much like a real person. It didn't help that it was Halloween, either. "Let's get you running."

Opening the small box, he removed a delicate key. It was a silvery colour decorated with a rather intricate pattern of flowers. Alfred wondered why they had bothered with the design. He didn't need it to look pretty, just to work. Shrugging, he leaned the doll forward and inserted the key. Slowly, carefully, he turned it several times until it wouldn't turn any more, the gears inside it turning and grinding against each other. Removing the key, he leant the doll back and shifted back to watch.

A sudden knock at his door caused him to yelp, jerk and fall onto his back on the floor. Grumbling, he leapt up and hurried to the door, grabbing the bowl of chocolate and candy. As he opened the door, a strong breeze whipped by him and he shivered.

"Hey, there!" he said, cheerfully.

"Trick or Treat!" chorused the little boy and girl grinning up at him. They held out open bags for him and he shook some of the confectionery into them.

"So, who're you two?" he asked, though he already knew what they were supposed to be.

"I'm Hiccup!" declared the boy.

"And I'm Toothless," said the girl before grinning to show that she was, indeed, toothless.

"Awesome! Have fun, you two," he told them before nodding to their parents and closing the door. He placed the bowl back on the table and was about to turn round when he heard a voice behind him.

"So I am in America?"

Freezing, Alfred ran through all the possible scenarios. A burglar, perhaps? Someone who had teleported like Hiro Nakamura? A ghost? Slowly, he turned around and found himself staring in astonishment at the doll who was standing with his arms crossed.

As soon as he was facing the doll, it gasped and its eyes widened like a human's might. "A-Alfred?" he asked. "But... How? What did you do? How did you-?"

"Woah, dude!" cried Alfred, raising his hands in a placating gesture before waving them around. "H-How do you know who I am?"

The doll seemed to jolt in surprise and it uncrossed its arms. "You... do not know me? And you are wearing odd clothes..." Alfred frowned and glanced down at his hoodie and jeans. What was odd about them? "You are not... Alfred Jones?"

His great-grandfather's name. The doll remembered him? Alfred had often been told that he looked like his great-grandfather – did the doll think he was his ancestor? He shook his head. "No. I'm Alfred F. Jones."

"Ah. A descendant." The doll sighed so sadly and it seemed to droop. Alfred couldn't get his head around how smoothly it seemed to move. Should it not be jerking? How was it speaking? He was pretty sure that even the most modern robots and AI couldn't move and talk like this. Suddenly, the doll gave a small bow. "Well, then, allow me to introduce myself. I am Arthur."

"Um, hello."

"You are taking this much better than your ancestor, you know? He told me once that he thought I was a possessed doll."

_Like Chucky?_ thought Alfred and promptly passed out.

* * *

When Alfred swam back to consciousness, he realised first that there was something cool on his head. It was also wet and small drops of water were running down his face. Then he noticed that he could hear something. Whatever was making it was muffled and it sounded like they were trying to stop themselves from crying.

He opened his eyes and, after blinking and letting himself adjust to the light, he saw the ceiling he had gotten used to looking at in his new bedroom. So he was in his bed, he decided. But who was crying and who had put the wet cloth on his forehead?

Hesitantly, he looked round to find Arthur sitting beside him, sniffing and rubbing at his eyes. The scream lodged in his throat when he saw the tears running down the doll's cheeks. Slowly, so as not to startle his unwanted companion, Alfred sat up and removed the dripping cloth, leaving it on the bed. Warily, he placed a hand on the doll's arm.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

The reaction seemed odd. Arthur gasped and stood up in such a rush that the chair he had been using toppled over. Turning his back on Alfred, he took great, gulping breaths to calm himself until he could finally respond. "I-I am fine. I apologise – you should not have had to see that."

"Nah, it's fine. What's up?"

Arthur turned back to him, his confusion clear on his face. "'Up'?" he asked. Glancing upwards, Arthur shook his head. "The ceiling?"

There was a short pause before Alfred found himself doubled over in laughter. "Oh, my God!" he breathed. "That is _awesome_!"

"Do not do that!" demanded Arthur and he sounded so angry that Alfred looked up.

Through his sniggers, Alfred asked, "Don't do what?"

"Taking the Lord's name in vain-"

"Woah, relax, Prissy Prince. You're obviously not from round here." Alfred snorted at his own joke. Arthur just stared at him. "It totally doesn't matter. And 'what's up?' means 'what's wrong?' or 'what's happening?', okay?"

The poor doll could only blink for a moment. "What year is it?"

"Ah!" Alfred sat up straighter and deepened his voice, doing his best attempt at a British accent. "It is the year of our Lord, 2014. Or two thousand and fourteen, as some people say."

Alfred had not been expecting the gasp nor the fact that Arthur would drop heavily onto the chair. "A-A hundred years?"

"Uh, yeah?" asked Alfred, wondering what he meant. Suddenly, it occurred to him to ask his own questions. "What exactly are you?"

"I am Arthur," was the vague reply as the doll dealt with the revelations.

"No, no. I got your name. But what the hell are you? You can't be a doll. That's impossible."

Finally, he got the doll's attention. "I am a human, cursed to spend eternity as a doll. Each time I am wound, I last a finite amount of time, depending on how much I have been wound. And a person can only wind me once. If they try again... Well, I do not know what will happen. I do not think anyone did so."

Almost immediately, Alfred started laughing again. "Cursed?!" he gasped. "That's just-! Seriously? _That's_ what you're gonna say?"

"It is the truth!" declared Arthur, his fists clenching. "I did not help a rude beggar woman and this is the price I have to pay."

"Shoulda helped her, then." Alfred said with a grin. Arthur scowled so Alfred decided to move the conversation along. He didn't believe in magic but he doubted he was going to get any other explanation. "So, you knew my great-grandfather, huh? What was he like?"

"Did you never meet him?" asked Arthur, suddenly sombre. He gazed down at his hands which he clasped together.

"He died when I was two or something. I don't remember him at all. My pops, though, I knew. He was awesome. Said he loved his dad, even if he was a bit loopy." Alfred tilted his head. "But then, not many people believed him about you."

Arthur looked surprised. "He told people about me?"

"Yup. Though pops and my great-aunt thought it was just a story."

"What-What happened to him?" Arthur ventured to ask.

"Well, when was the last time you saw him?"

"His birthday on the 4th of July, 1911."

Alfred stared. God, he didn't want to have to explain the wars. And what about the marriage? If he remembered rightly, it had practically been arranged – the old Alfred had went along with it because it had been after the First World War. He had been listless beforehand but afterwards... Alfred wasn't so sure he wanted to tell this poor thing the fate of someone he obviously cared about.

"I... I think you need to read some history books."

* * *

It only took Arthur a week to catch up on everything he had missed in his hundred years sleep. Of course, there were popular references he still had to discover but he understood enough to know the despair Alfred Jones had gone through. Alfred F. Jones had to listen to him weeping from the living room as he pretended to sleep after he had told him about his ancestor's life. He was itching to comfort him but he realised that he needed to give him space.

The next morning, he handed Arthur a cup of tea – he had learned that the doll hated coffee – and said, "Would you... like to visit his grave?"

Arthur's head jerked up, his eyes wide. "H-His...?" Alfred watched his shock as he sat down on the couch beside him, waiting for his answer. "I... Yes. Please."

That was how Alfred found himself in front of a grave he had visited on only a few occasions in his life. The epitaph was simple: TO A LOVING HUSBAND, FATHER AND GRANDFATHER. Alfred had always felt it was too much of an understatement after everything the man had done for his family and country.

Carefully, Arthur ran his fingers softly over the letters spelling ALFRED JONES. "He was," he began, catching Alfred's full attention, "the only person to treat me as a human being in this state. I asked him once if he considered me a doll and he called me a friend. And, at the end..." Arthur sighed and gently placed the pale pink roses he had insisted on buying in front of the headstone.

"You know," said Alfred, watching him cautiously, "there's something I remembered when you bought those."

"Hm?" asked Arthur as he rose and turned to the American.

"At the back of the garden of the house in Charlottesville, there was a rosebush that my grandfather took good care of. He told me that Old Al had told him it was special and, if he kept it well, something amazing would happen. For his whole life, Pops looked after it. He tried to teach me but I was never interested in plants. Now, though..." He trailed off as he noticed the distraught expression on Arthur's face.

When he had asked Arthur to come with him, he had expected him to be upset. With his stiff upper lip, though, he had never expected him to cry in the open. Now, the doll was letting the tears fall freely and Alfred couldn't understand why. Hesitantly, he held out his arms and the smaller man fell into him, sobbing into Alfred's shoulder.

All Alfred could do was make comforting noises and stroke his soft hair.

* * *

"Artie!"

"How many times must I tell you not to call me that?" snapped Arthur, emerging from the kitchen with an apron.

"What're you up to?" asked Alfred suspiciously, eyeing him as he slipped his bomber jacket off. "You're not trying to cook again are you?"

The Brit turned red and placed his hands on his hips. He looked the picture of someone's mother. "Well, you are out all day, so-"

"No, no, no, no," sighed Alfred. "We talked about this Artie-"

"Arthur!"

"-you need to learn to shorten your words, remember? Try that again. 'Well, _you're_ out-'"

"Oh, for goodness' sake! Just let me-"

Their conversation was cut short as the smoke alarm started beeping. Both of them looked shocked for a moment before they hurried into the kitchen. Smoke was billowing from a pan on the stove and Alfred had no doubt that there would be more in the oven, considering he couldn't see through the glass window. "Jesus, Artie, what the hell did you do this time?!"

"I didn't- I followed the recipe exactly!"

"Didn't I teach you how to order in on days like this?"

"But, I..." He trailed off as they silently put the fires out. Alfred felt he was beginning to become an expert. Maybe he could become a fireman.

When they had finally dealt with the aftermath of Arthur's cooking – he claimed that it was odd not cooking on an open fire and that was why he burnt everything – Alfred turned to him with an exasperated sigh. "But you, what, Arthur? But you wanted to kill me?"

"That's not it!" yelled Arthur. His fists were clenched and he was trembling. He seemed to be really upset. Once again, Alfred had forgotten how touchy he was about the fact that he could barely look after himself. "Just forget it," he murmured as he turned away. "Do you want pizza or-?"

Sighing, Alfred hugged Arthur from behind. "I want Chinese," he said into Arthur's ear. "And I need to talk to you about something so hurry up."

"I would have already been on my way if you hadn't bloody well stopped me, you idiot!"

"Hey, you're kinda getting the hang of this speaking thing!" said Alfred cheerfully as he let Arthur go. "Have you been practising?"

Turning, Arthur smirked up at Alfred. "I've been watching British shows while you have been at university."

"Call it school."

"That makes you sound like a prepubescent child," said Arthur, his mouth twitching as he fought down a smirk – or a smile. Alfred couldn't always tell.

Either way, he pouted at the accusation. "Hey! That's just what everyone calls it."

"Yes, yes. Now, do you want me to call the Chinese place or not? If so, leave me alone for now." And, with that, he left the kitchen to find the phone.

Alfred was actually pretty amazed at the speed with which Arthur had caught onto how to use things around the apartment. The Englishman told him that he had always been quick on the uptake. However, it surprised Alfred that he had not freaked out with anything. He had expected the doll to go into a state of culture shock, an extreme version. Although he was grateful, he still found it odd.

There was nothing to be done about it, though, so Alfred glanced at his ruined cooker and sighed. Maybe he should get the doll some cooking classes. He paled at the thought: what if they thought he was attempting to kill the people there?

In the living room, he found Arthur in what seemed to be his favourite armchair, the one he had sat him in to wind him up. For a moment, Alfred surveyed the doll. Although he appeared human and could move like one, his skin seemed too pale. Or, rather, it was a bright fair skin. His limbs looked too thin and delicate. And his eyes were still too bright to be of the world of humans.

Shaking his head, he sat on the couch as the doll finished off the order he had learned by heart. Then he turned to Alfred and raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

Arthur sighed. "Why did you wish to speak with me?"

"You're talking all old-fashioned again, dude." The only response Alfred received was a look so he shrugged and spoke. "It's Thanksgiving this week. Since you don't celebrate it and I have the weekend off... Let's go explore America!" He threw a fist in the air, grinning at the doll.

"Um... Is Thanksgiving not normally a family occasion?"

"Oh, totally," agreed Alfred, still smiling at the uncomfortable Arthur. "But I've already told my parents I want to go travelling this weekend, so." He shrugged. "I'll be going to dinner, of course, and then I'll come back and pick you up."

Something like comprehension crossed Arthur's face but his expression returned to his usual blank one. "I suppose we could."

"Yes! This'll be totally awesome!"

* * *

"Argh, Artie, where are we?!" whined Alfred.

"Don't call me that, you idiot! And why the hell are you asking me? How am I supposed to know where we are when you only just gave me the map?"

Alfred frowned. "You're yelling at me. That's not very nice."

"I'll wring your neck in a minute-! I can't see a thing. Do you not have a light?"

"Er... In the glove compartment?"

Their little world continued to move along a straight, empty road as Arthur opened the storage space up and began to search for some light. Eventually, the noise of his hands scrabbling ceased and he straightened up. "There's nothing there," he declared.

"Ah. I might have left it in the trunk."

Arthur sighed. "Well, pull over then. We had best look for it."

"Nuh-uh. I'm not stopping in the middle of nowhere."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"I dunno. Keep going?"

"How can you be so stupid!" exploded Arthur, throwing his arms and the map in the air. "You've gotten us lost and now you won't stop. We could be halfway across the country before we find civilisation. You. Need. To. Stop!"

"Hey, don't call me stupid! I got into college."

"Ah, yes, I apologise – you lack flipping common sense!"

"That's just another way of saying I'm stupid!"

"Well, you are. Pull over!"

"No way. I don't wanna get attacked by someone with a chainsaw." Alfred shuddered at the thought.

"We're not in Texas! Wait... We very well might be!"

"Nah, don't have enough gas."

"Maybe we could siphon some from your mouth," muttered Arthur, folding his arms and glaring into the night.

"What was that?" snapped Alfred.

"All your talk about being amazing and you've gotten us lot. Fat lot of good all that hot air did us."

"You know, I don't understand why my great-grandfather kept you," snarled Alfred, his foot pressing down on the gas pedal. "If this is the way you acted with him, I would have thrown you out."

The silence which fell wasn't complete. A roaring from the engine cut through the darkness of their slice of night. Alfred's breathing huffed out noisily and his heart thrummed within him. Above it all, though, was the ticking from Arthur's heart. Glancing over at him, Alfred saw Arthur staring resolutely out of the window. His hands were shaking, giving away how upset the comment had made him.

With a sigh, Alfred eased off on the accelerator. "Okay, that was uncalled for. I'm sorry, okay?" When Arthur didn't reply, Alfred decided to continue. "I really am, honestly. Of course you didn't act like that with him. He was probably way more awesome than me. 'Cause he was a hero. 'Course, I could totally be a hero, too. Saved _you_ from boredom, after all."

"Alfred."

He shook his head. "No, let me finish. Obviously he wouldn't have chucked you away. You're pretty awesome, I suppose, when you're not arguing or cooking or- Er... Actually, that's all I've seen you do. Ah, that isn't what I meant! Look, I really am sorry and I know you-"

"Alfred..."

"I'm sorry, really! I know it's a touchy subject, being in your box and whatever. But I-"

"Alfred!"

"What is it?" snapped Alfred. "I'm trying to apologise here!"

"And _I_ am trying to tell _you_ that we've just passed signs advertising a motel along the next turning!" cried Arthur, looking rather relieved that he had managed to get that nugget of information out. "It's the middle of the night, we're both tired and irritated – let's stop and sleep."

"Oh. Okay..."

"And maybe we could ask for directions?" Arthur said with a small, smug smirk.

* * *

"We are _so_ not asking this place for directions," said Alfred, suppressing a shiver.

Arthur sighed. "This is not like one of your movies. We're not going to get murdered."

"But we're in the middle of nowhere!" wailed Alfred as he dropped onto a bed. "We're gonna get kidnapped and tortured or put into a snuff movie or get eaten by cannibals or made into wax models or-"

"Oh, for goodness' sake! You're just getting yourself worked up. Calm down."

"Hmm." Alfred was unconvinced. After travelling a few miles down the intersecting road, they had finally come across a rickety old town which was so small they could have driven through it without noticing had they not been on the lookout for it. The motel was in sight of the tiny settlement but far enough that the locals would not be able to see who had gone into the building.

The sprawling motel itself seemed run-down and the woman who had hobbled to the receptionist's desk had obviously not been expecting visitors. Holes riddled the wooden fences which encased the crumbling bricks. Several of the rooms they passed had cloths crammed into the jagged holes of the broken windows.

Inside their room, the moth-eaten curtains barely protected them from seeing the outside world – or the outside world seeing them. A musty smell permeated the room. The cracked mirror reflected them both as slightly blurry. Another door led to the bathroom but Alfred was avoiding it for all he was worth.

"Stop moping," ordered Arthur. "Let us just get ready for bed and sleep."

"Mm," said Alfred with a nod, rising to pull his suitcase to him.

They both quickly got ready in the chilly room, backs to each other, before they slipped under the thin covers. After saying their goodnights, Arthur rolled away from him and his ticking filled the room. Alfred stared into the dark, willing his brain to shut down even as his eyes got used to the lack of light. But the wind whispered, the curtains rustled their petticoats and the ticking was counting down to when something would grab him.

"Artie," he murmured, his heart pounding.

"Mhm?" came the response.

Relief flooded through him and he desperately tried to think of a reason for gaining his friend's attention. "Well... You... You and my great-grandfather... What did you two do together?"

There was an awfully long pause before, finally, Alfred heard the creaking of the other bed as Arthur rolled over. "We did all sorts of things. Mostly, though, he was taught by his governess whilst I read a book. Though, we did stay in a hotel together, in the Lake District."

Alfred let that sink in for a moment before he replied. "You did? Er... What exactly were you doing?"

With a loud rustle and a rather loud creak, a shadow emerged from the neighbouring bed. "We-We did not-! That is not-! It was not like that! We had two beds, like this. All we did in the room was sleep!"

Chuckling, Alfred waved a hand at him. "Okay, I get it. Calm down." He waited till Arthur had lain back down before he spoke again. "Is that all, though? Didn't you do anything else?"

It was another few minutes before Arthur spoke again and Alfred had almost given up on an answer. Before he spoke, Arthur cleared his throat, a sure sign that he was embarrassed and flustered. "I... Well. He, um, he kissed me. On that last day. As I was winding down. And, I think, I stopped working during it."

Blinking into the darkness, Alfred felt his eyes widen as he imagined it. His ancestor must have been distraught. No wonder he was so listless in the rest of his life. How could someone live knowing that someone they cared deeply enough to risk their own well-being for was still and locked away in the attic?

Realising he should reply, Alfred shook his head. "Hey, you don't have to be embarrassed about it."

"But... We were well on our way to so-" Arthur broke off and sighed. "I know that people can be 'gay' in this time, but then..."

Alfred nodded, even though Arthur couldn't see him. "Was that your only kiss?"

"Yes."

"Ah."

They sat in silence for a while, silently contemplating about times gone by. The ticking filled the space between them, comforting Alfred a little. However, this did not last long as the walls shuddered and groaned, straining against the high wind. He yelped and gasped, holding a hand to his heart.

"Are you okay?" asked Arthur, quietly. His voice sounded a little strained, the way it did when he had been crying. Alfred tried to calm himself and concentrate on his voice.

"Y-Yes. Er. Did you do anything else?"

"Well, I suppose... I told him stories, like I told the girls before him."

"Oh?" asked Alfred, brightening. "Tell me one!"

"Ah, come now – in this day and age you would-"

"No, no – tell me!"

Arthur sighed. "Okay," he said and sat up, the bed creaking beneath him as he settled himself against the wall. "This is the first story I ever told your great-grandfather.

"Once upon a time-"

"Really?"

"Do you want me to tell you the story or not?"

"Sorry."

With another sigh, Arthur continued. "Once upon a time, there was a fairy named Peter."

"That's an awful name."

"It is better than 'Joe'," grumbled Arthur. "Look, just let me tell you the story."

Nodding, Alfred propped himself up and gazed over at him. "Sorry."

"The fairy named _Peter_ had golden hair and eyes like the summer sky. However, he had never seen the sunny sky as it was forbidden for fairies to fly in the sun. They were forced to move around in the silver moonlight, revelling in the peace and darkness.

"However, Peter was curious and he wished to fly during the day. His parents forbid him and so he petitioned the king and queen. They explained that they could not allow it.

"'If humans discover our existence,' they said, 'they will exploit our mastery of magic. You must not fly in the daylight.'"

"I take it he does-"

"Would you shut up?!" cried Arthur, exasperatedly. "You are so much like-" He stopped himself but Alfred understood what he meant and scowled. Alfred really hated being compared to his ancestor. There was no way in hell he was willing to become like he did.

"I swear to you on my life, I won't say anything else till the end," declared Alfred.

"Right. Well, Peter, being an annoying and disobedient fairy" - Alfred had the feeling Arthur was glaring at him as he said those words - "decided that he would disregard the warnings set out by his parents and royals. One day, he ventured out into the sun and discovered the golden fields swaying in the wind, the beautiful flowers now open, the animals going about their business.

"And, of course, he saw the human beings. These were not the monsters he had been told about. Interested to find out more, he flew down to a young man in the fields. His hair was black as raven's wings and his eyes as dark as mud.

"The human was surprised as no-one had seen any of the fae in centuries. He was also rather frightened, for humans had passed down tales of horror, depicting the fae as horrific people who stole children away in the night. Peter was horrified to learn this and worked to rectify it by telling him ways to recognise fairies' homes and when would be the best time to witness them flying. The human promised to teach the rest of his village.

"Unfortunately, after Peter had left, he did so and the human found himself on the opposite end of a mob. For humans believed magic to be evil and the work of demons. So they tried him for being a witch and sentenced him to death.

"However, humans are canny creatures and they had listened to the man's teachings. In order to eradicate all evil from the world they made their way to the fairies' homes and massacred them whilst they were sleeping.

"Peter had been enjoying his freedom and had not returned home. As he flew overhead, he witnessed the humans' awful acts. Horrified, he tried to stop them but he was hit away by a stray hand. Landing, he hit his head and remained unconscious for the duration. No-one noticed him and so he was saved.

"But at what cost? He had his freedom – but his family and kin were lost. Saddened, he vowed to repair the relationship between the fae and humans. Unfortunately, he was just one fairy and he had to avoid the superstitious adults. The only people he could talk to were children and those with the Gift, though even those began to shun him as time went on.

"Eventually, he came across a young woman with beautiful, shining hair and the most striking green eyes. Those eyes reminded him of the Queen of the Fae and he was drawn to her. She had the gift and, though surprised and alarmed to see him at first, welcomed him to her home. They would speak at length whenever the woman had time and Peter grew to love her.

"Time wore on and, eventually, the woman grew older. Peter grew desperate. He did not want to watch her die. So he decided to go on a journey to find witches or any other magical creature to help him. If he could become human, he could remain by her side."

"And it worked, right?" breathed Alfred, forgetting his promise. The world Arthur had painted had drawn him in and, now, he was riveted. He wanted more. In fact, he wanted to lean forward and enter the beautifully bitter world. His heart was beating fast, willing the ending to be wonderful, to be happy. Although it was clichéd, he yearned to hear the words 'happily ever after'.

"No," said Arthur and cruelly dashed his hopes, leaving Alfred to gasp in pain. "No. There was no-one knowledgeable enough to do so. The Queen of the Fae may have once been able to but no-one could help him now.

"Disheartened, he returned to the woman's home – only to find that, during his search, time had worn on. She was no longer there and her children had grown. His love had not waited for him and he could only turn from the place and journey away in sadness."

Tick, tick, tick – that was the only noise to permeate the darkness. Alfred was sure his heart had stopped. He certainly wasn't breathing. Was there more to the story? As the silence wore on, he sat bolt upright, eyes wide.

"W-W-What?! That's it?!"

"Yes. I do apologise. There is no ending yet."

"Yet? Why not?" demanded Alfred, eyebrows furrowed.

"The story is a metaphor. If you can work out what it means, then, perhaps, you can give Peter a happy ending. Now, get to sleep. I'm exhausted!"

There was creaking as Arthur shifted back down to lie comfortably. Alfred held him yawn but didn't dare speak. He was still captivated by the story. A metaphor? But what could it mean? Sure he would not be able to get any more sleep that night, Alfred tried to puzzle it out.

He didn't notice the ticking of Arthur's heart lulling him to sleep.

* * *

"Fine!" snapped Arthur, wrenching open the front door.

"Fine!" yelled Alfred as the door swung shut.

Without looking back, he turned on his heel and re-entered the living room. Growling in irritation, he plugged his XBox back in. What on Earth had he been doing, cleaning whilst he was playing? Couldn't he leave well enough alone? He was tired of his meddling!

Grinding his teeth, Alfred made sure everything was connected properly and finally sat down to play. After starting up his game and making it through everything he had already gone through, he could feel his anger fading.

Deciding he would get a drink, he paused his game and got up. He heard a clinking noise as his foot connected with the furniture polish. Staring at for a moment, he sighed as he picked it up and carried it into the kitchen. Instead of putting away in the cupboard where the cleaning supplies were kept, he left it on the unit. No doubt Arthur would want to continue from where he left off when he returned.

However, as he opened the fridge to find a can of Coke, he frowned. Something was off and he couldn't figure out what. With a gentle kick, he closed the door and opened the can one-handedly. Craning his neck back, he took great gulps before stopping with a 'fwah' noise and rubbing at his mouth.

It was too quiet.

Even though he wasn't always in the same room as the doll, he could hear the ticking of his heart. Now, though, he realised he hadn't gone a day without Arthur in the apartment while he was in since he had wound him. What should he do? He felt uneasy.

Shaking his head, Alfred returned to the quiet living room and halted. It really was too quiet. Arthur should be sitting there, in that armchair of his, reading a book. The man should be sighing at the romance or gasping at the horrific situation as he got so caught up in the story. There should be a kettle boiling, the one Alfred had bought for Arthur's first Christmas with him and it should be brewing in the accompanying teapot: Arthur had teared up when he had opened the present that day.

He should be here with Alfred.

"Oh, no," muttered Alfred as he realised what his train of thought indicated. "No, I can't..."

But he clearly was because, now, his thoughts turned to where the hell the doll had gone. Where would an Englishman with no passport or papers go? Was he all right? What if he was hit by a car? What if he was attacked by someone? How could Alfred contact him? Did he want to? It was Arthur's fault, after all.

"Dammit," he breathed before grabbing his keys, coat and shoes and rushing from the apartment.

Knowing Arthur, of course, he would probably have gone for a walk to let off steam. His favourite place in New York was Central Park so Alfred headed there. It wasn't a calming journey – twice, he was almost hit by a car as he rushed across the road. He probably jaywalked more times than that and he prayed no-one would recognise him. When he finally reached the park, he started off on one of the paths he knew Arthur preferred.

Boy, was he glad he did.

Laughter attracted his attention and he slowed as he gaped at the scene before him. Two huge, bulky men were flexing their muscles and blocking Arthur's way. The doll had picked up a fallen branch which had obviously not been cleared by the park's attendants and was holding it in front of him for protection. But what good would the stick do? Alfred had to get Arthur out of there.

"Artie!" he cried, rushing towards the trio.

The two men glanced around and one openly laughed. "Oh, hey. The fairy has to get some dude to rescue him."

Alfred reached them and the two assailants rounded on him. "Back off," said the other one. "We're only trying to get some money outta him."

"Screw you!" retorted Alfred. "Ar-" he began but stopped and ducked when the bigger one swung for him. There was absolutely no way he could take the mountain on and he hopped back a few steps.

Before anything else could happen, Arthur suddenly lunged with the branch. Using the pointier end, he drove what amounted to a stick into the side of the one who had came at Alfred. The attacker doubled over with a grunt of pain and worked on his breathing.

The other stepped forward, growling. However, as he stepped and glared into Arthur's magnetic eyes, he failed to see Arthur twisting from his last position. The branch swung low with all the force the doll could muster and crashed into the man's legs. For a split second, Alfred thought it wouldn't do anything. Then, almost in slow motion, the brute wobbled and began his descent to the ground.

Although Alfred was shocked at the incredible display of self-defence and he felt as though he should be rooted to the spot, his body moved on his own. He charged forwards and grabbed Arthur's hand, causing him to drop the branch. Then he pulled at him, causing the doll to stumble after him as he turned and ran from the scene as if his life depended on it.

"What are you doing?!" panted Arthur. "Let go. I can take care of myself."

"No you can't!" shrieked Alfred. "Those guys would _kill_ you! Don't you remember what you are? You're a doll – you're delicate! What are you going to do if you wind down in the middle of a fight?" His heart plummeted at his own question and he gulped. "What would you do if you were _broken_?!"

As they reached the street and the safety of passers-by, Alfred glanced round at the silent doll. He almost froze in place at Arthur's expression. His eyes were wide and his mouth open as he stared in shock at the American. But Alfred couldn't miss the hurt in those green gems.

"Y-You..." began Arthur as they continued on their way back to the apartment. "You're right. I'm sorry. I will not go out without you again."

Alfred felt himself choke up and he looked away. What had he done?

* * *

In the days and weeks which followed, Arthur closed himself off from Alfred. He made a concerted effort to contract his words, apologising whenever he lapsed into his old way of speaking. The cleaning was still done by him but he no longer attempted to cook. There was no mention of leaving for walks. And, strangely enough, he would put aside the book he was reading in order to play games with Alfred when he asked – no longer did he huff and grumble until their argument ended with him reading.

After a few days of this, Alfred grew worried and, the more he worried, the more he realised how deeply he cared for the man. He missed Arthur's noises as he read. He missed that awful cooking. He missed the pouts and the smiles and the laughter.

What was even worse, though, was that Alfred had to now strain to hear the ticking. Before, Arthur's heart had been audible in other rooms in the apartment. Now, it was impossible for Alfred to tell if he was still alive. He panicked several times, wondering if Arthur had stopped and was always relieved to find him quietly sipping at some tea or washing the dishes.

Now that Alfred had realised how important Arthur was, he began to try to cheer him up. He tried surprise presents and even cleaning up after himself. There was even the time he had come across someone selling house plants and had bought one for Arthur to take care of. Slowly, Arthur began to relax and their usual arguments became the norm once again.

Weeks turned into months and they celebrated two birthdays and Alfred passing his first year at Columbia University. For once, they actually went out to celebrate, though they went home shortly after arriving at the bar. Apparently, Arthur could not handle his liquor.

One day, Alfred returned from college with a bag full of candy. He slipped off his scarf and hung it before rushing to the smoke-filled kitchen and dumping his purchases on the unit. Arthur barely glanced at him as he tried to regain control of the oven. With an exasperated sigh, Alfred opened the window and wafted the smoke away.

"Hey, Artie!" he said, trying not to cough.

"Good evening, Alfred. And my name is _Arthur_, for goodness' sake. What have you bought now?"

Turning back, Alfred watched Arthur pull something black from the cooker. "Candy."

This time, Arthur looked closely at the bag. "Is that all? It seems a little excessive, does it not? Why do you need so much?"

"It's Halloween. Gotta have loads for the kids. Are we eating this or do you admit defeat?"

Arthur tilted his head and poked the lump in the dish. Part of it crumbled. "Defeat," sighed Arthur. "One of these days, I'll get the hang of this."

"Yay! I totally want pizza!"

"All right. I'll call them and get the usual, shall I?"

"Yup. And then we need to get ready for Halloween."

Returning with the apartment's phone in his hand, Arthur shook his head. "I know you've explained this trick or treating thing before, but I still don't understand the point of it. It doesn't really benefit anyone. And, even without that, you still have too much candy. There are two cupboards out of use already!"

Alfred chuckled. "Don't worry about it. You'll be surprised how much kids can carry." He grinned at Arthur for a moment before sobering. "Ah, actually... I've been invited to a party tonight... I'm gonna go but I'll be back before it gets dark. Don't want you on your own at Halloween, ha ha!"

Immediately, Arthur's bemused expression soured. "You're... going out?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry. Just make sure you give out candy if anyone comes a-knocking. I'm gonna go get changed. I'll eat and then leave, okay?"

"Ah, but..." began Arthur as Alfred left.

"Call the pizza place, Artie!" Alfred laughed, leaving him alone in the kitchen.

"Right..." came the unenthusiastic reply.

When he returned to the living room, he twirled round. "How do I look?" he asked with a grin. For this Halloween, he was wearing his bomber jacket with flight goggles. He had even went as far as to get a replica of a pilot's uniform and their equipment. To be honest, even with his glasses (which he was sure was not allowed for a pilot), he was sure he looked the part.

"You look amazing," agreed Arthur with a small, fond smile. He pushed a box towards him. "Here."

Dropping into the couch, Alfred began to scoff the pizza, shoving slice after slice into his mouth. In contrast, Arthur nibbled at his. After a while, Alfred realised that Arthur was constantly glancing at him.

"What? What is it?"

"I... I need to tell you something," murmured Arthur, pulling part of his slice off and squishing it between thumb and forefinger.

"Hm?" Alfred finished off his last slice and licked off his fingers before turning to him completely.

"Well... I don't know if you're aware but... Well..."

A sudden beeping noise caused both men to blink and glance towards the source – Alfred's abandoned cell phone. The American picked it up and looked at it. He had a message from Matthew, who was attending the same party, asking where he was.

"Oh, crap!" cried Alfred, leaping up. "I gotta go. Can this wait?"

Arthur looked undecided and shocked for a moment before smiling. With a quick nod, he said, "Of course. Go: hurry."

"Cool. See ya later!"

* * *

Alfred had already worked out what time he should leave the party to get home before it got too dark (as dark as it could get in New York) and, for the hundredth time, he checked his watch. He winced as he realised only five minutes had passed since the last time he had looked.

"What is wrong, chéri?" asked Francis, suddenly appearing at his elbow. "You keep checking the time. Do you have somewhere to be?"

"N-No!" cried Alfred, backing away from the vampire. He had gotten quite a scare.

"You're not going to leave so soon, are you?" asked another voice. Alfred jumped and spun round to find Matthew, dressed as some sort of famous Canadian ghost, smiling at him. It was a devious smile and if he was about to make fun of him for being anxious about the dark on this particular night, he was going to kick up a fuss. So he shook his head.

"That is good," said Francis, nodding. "Because I want to introduce you to my cousin. I know that you and he will, ah, be very _passionate_ together."

"That's okay," Alfred assured him with a grimace. "I'd rather not."

"Suit yourself," said Francis and breezed off.

"Come on, Alfred," sighed Matthew. "You need to meet new people. Find someone nice."

"Really, I'm fine." Alfred knew he should have told Matthew about Arthur but, for some reason, he didn't feel like sharing. Besides, unless he met the doll, he would not believe him.

Something was beginning to niggle at him regarding Arthur but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Matthew sighed. "Alfred, it's been a year."

"What?"

"It's been a year since Great-Uncle Oliver died. That was the last time I know of that you had a date. I know you loved him but you have to-"

"Mattie!" breathed Alfred, suddenly grabbing his arm. "W-What did you just say?"

"Um... I know you loved hi-"

"No, before that!"

"That was the-"

"Before that! How long?!"

"A year," replied Matthew, now looking at him strangely. "Are you okay, Al? Do you need to go-?"

"Oh, God! It's been a year... Arthur!" And, with that, he rushed out the door, dropping off his bottle of Coke on the way.

* * *

Alfred was never sure how he managed to reach his apartment without crashing the car or dropping his keys and wasting precious time. When he opened his own front door, it crashed into the wall as he called on his companion. By the time he reached the living room, an alarmed Arthur was on his feet, an open book held in his hand, a finger keeping his place.

"Al... fred..." he said, obviously confused. "Why are... you here? What happened to... the party?" he asked.

Although he hadn't seen Arthur moving, Alfred instantly knew that he was winding down. The staccato speech made it blindingly obvious, even to him. "You-You're winding down, aren't you? You tried to tell me earlier, didn't you?" he breathed, still trying to catch his breath from the race to get home.

For a moment, Arthur seemed stuck. Then, with a few jerky movements and a few smooth, he turned his and looked away. Dropping the book onto his armchair, he replied, "Yes. I am sorry... Alfred. But you should be... at your party... having fun. I have taken up enough... of your time. Thank you for all... that you have done."

"No!" shouted Alfred and advanced on the doll. "No, you can't. This isn't fair! There's got to be a way to stop this from happening."

"Well, it is not a... kiss," said Arthur with a faltering chuckle. "The old Alfred proved that."

"I know; so it's gotta be something else! Like... Like that story! You said if I figured it out, you could have a happy ending! I'm sure I have."

"You did?" asked Arthur, looking surprised as he finally returned his gaze to Alfred. "Not even your great... grandfather did that."

"It's you, isn't it?" declared Alfred. "_You're _the fairy. And that girl he fell in love with was Old Al." There was a pause as they stared at each other for a few moments. "Well?" he finally dared to ask.

"You are... right. But I do... not feel... different." Arthur turned from him, jerking and swaying until, finally, he could sit on the couch. Alfred hurried over. "I am afraid... I will be... leaving you... Maybe I will... meet your... descendants."

Alfred shook his head as he dropped down beside Arthur and turned to him. "No. No, you can't. I can't. This is... I don't know what to do without you, Arthur! You're so important to me by now..."

Shakily, Arthur raised his hand and gently brushed it against Alfred's cheek. "You did well... before I... came along. You will be fine."

"You don't understand," sighed Alfred. Gathering his courage, he reached to the doll and took his face in a gentle yet firm grip. Then he leaned across and pressed their lips together. It was a chaste kiss and he quickly pulled away so that he could look Arthur in those glittering eyes. "I love you, Arthur. Don't leave me, please. God, just... Don't leave me. Please. _Please_!"

"I... can't... I don't... know how," sighed Arthur, his hand moving shakily upwards to touch his own lips. "This kiss... will be with me... forever."

"There has to be _something_," pleaded Alfred. This couldn't end like this. Not like before. He _wouldn't_ become like the old Alfred!

"No-one has saved... me. And no-one... can wind me... twice, it seems."

At those words, Alfred's eyes widened. "I still have the key," he whispered, as if afraid he would ruin his chance. "I can do it. I can wind you again. Maybe if I do it while you're still alive, it'll work! Just... Let me get it, okay? It's in a safe place."

"You will... leave me _now_?" asked Arthur, sounding exasperated.

"I'm going to save you, Artie! You're getting your happy ending. Just wait for me, okay?"

Jerkily, Arthur nodded as Alfred jumped to his feet and headed to his bedroom. When he entered, he looked around helplessly. He knew he had kept it – but where exactly was that safe place. Crying out in frustration, he began to open drawers and doors and threw everything out, probably undoing all of Arthur's tidying. Where was it? Where could he have put that box?

Box.

Now he remembered – he had carefully put the key in its box inside the trunk Arthur had come in. It was still sitting in the living room, acting like a second table. Without any more hesitation, he turned and rushed back – only to almost trip over something lying on the ground.

Alfred stared in horror at Arthur, prone on the floor, face-down, his hand reaching towards him. It couldn't be...

Quickly, he dropped to his knees and rolled the doll over. Glassy eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling. His delicate skin was white and not just pale. The bottle-green t-shirt and jeans seemed to hang looser from his body.

"No..." whispered Alfred. He could feel tears welling up – but he couldn't give up. "Just- Wait!" he cried as he leapt to his feet and rushed to the trunk-table. With a sweep of his arm, everything was dashed to the floor so he could open it.

He had just gotten it open when a sound behind him made him freeze. It was a strange scuffling sound. Like rats.

Like ghosts in Supernatural.

And it was Halloween.

Normally, he would have run screaming. But Arthur needed him. He needed Arthur. The ghost was not allowed to stop him. Grabbing the box, Alfred turned around only to find himself looking at a familiar pair of jeans and an equally familiar t-shirt. Slowly he looked up at the amazed face of the person who was looking down at himself with hands held up for inspection.

Arthur's skin was tanned from the days he had spent outside in the sun with Alfred. His hair was a little longer than it had been to begin with and he was in serious need of a trim. A shadow on his jaw suggested he required a shave.

But those eyes. Those eyes were still as bright as ever.

A choked noise escaped Alfred's gaping mouth as he felt tears begin to fall. The man before him grinned down at him, elated. Then he stuck out his hand which Alfred reached out to, yet did not dare take.

"Hello. My name is Arthur Kirkland. It's nice to finally meet you without being a doll," began Arthur before grabbing Alfred's hand and pulling him to his feet. The box he was clutching slipped from his grasp and bounced away, under the coffee table. "And I love you, too."

* * *

_**And so Alfred and Arthur get their happy end. And Peter does, too. :) Thank goodness! I was so worried about that little fairy.  
**_

_**Some explanations, I suppose... Mattie and Francis appear but... Eh, can't be bothered putting them in the featured characters bit. Whatever. Anyways, Mattie is... Well, the original Alfred had two kids, a son and daughter. The son stayed in America, his sister married and moved to Canada. And that is how Alfred and Matthew are related.**_

_**Francis and his cousin, Antonio, are descendants of a French woman and a Spanish 'prince'.**_

_**(About the words "descendant" - apparently "descendent" is correct, too, except the former is the noun and the latter is the verb. Or something like that.)**_

_**The curse could only be lifted if someone declared, openly and willingly, that they loved Arthur. A kiss thrown in for good measure couldn't hurt. (And the metaphor being solved may have something to do with it, too. The curse wasn't very clear. The beggar woman had an accent, you see.)**_

_**This chapter was somewhat of a rollercoaster, huh? But at least you have this - the last chapter was supposed to be all it was. Heh. I couldn't do that to them. ^^"**_

_**Alfred Jones and Alfred F. Jones are two very different people. Arthur falls in love with both because... Well, he was merely attracted to the first one. He had never been in love before and so couldn't decipher between love and attraction. He was definitely in love with Alfred 2 or it wouldn't have lifted the curse. (That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.)**_

_**The movies Alfred is referencing when he's whining about being in the middle of nowhere are: Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Hostel, Vacancy, Hills Have Eyes and Wax House. He watches way too many horrors. And these are all movies I've watched, too. I watch way too many horrors. **_

_**Oh, yeah - Alfred was studying History at Columbia University because I decided. Well, he decided but, y'know. Author.**_

_**Ah, and, the only thing I can think of, is... After college, etc, Alfred and Arthur moved into the house in Charlottesville which had yet to be bought, did it up, and took good care of that rose bush. :3**_

_**EDIT: God. I'm so sorry. It was late last night I was uploading this and I forgot to say it was complete. ^^" But, yeah, that's it. No more to this story.**_

_**Also, about the attracted vs love thing... I didn't explain it very well. Arthur I see as being in his very early 20s. Like, 21, 22. Maybe 23 at a stretch. Anyways, the first Alfred was 16. So... Arthur was certainly attracted to him but he had yet to grow into the kind of man he would love. (Also, first Alfred wasn't America Alfred - Alfred F. Jones was, though.) Second Alfred is, like, 18/19 and has grown taller than the first one and more handsome and whatever. (Also, by the end, second Alfred was 19/20 and Arthur was still 21/22/23.)**_

_**Sorry for not putting this in the first time.**_


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